More Than This
by Abstract Reality
Summary: When a Hylian finds himself faced with his inevitable fate, lost in the woods. A conversation with a visitor reminds him that he is meant for more. One-Shot. Complete. All Ages!


_More Than This_

"Do you remember?" the Kokiri child inquired, her emerald eyes wide and questioning. While her appearance encouraged any passerby to mistake her for a mere child, the assumption would be incorrect at best. Beyond her eyes as green as spring was an ancient soul as old as the trees of the woods around her.

"Remember?" I replied in apathy. Ever since I arrived to these withdrawn woods, no one took the time to ask me such a question. Then again, I seldom welcome visitors with the exception of timid creatures of the forest.

"Yes," she consoled, kneeling before me. "Before you became lost in these woods?"

Lost. Of course. I had come across this canopied labyrinth years ago, though it is now too far back for me to recall correctly. I was looking for something. Or was it for some place? But it no longer matters as this wooded realm has become my prison.

These woods possess a mysterious power that few understand, save for the Kokiri or the children of the forest. You are drawn into its deepest corners by the echo of a melody as enigmatic as the forest itself. It dances on the branches with their flourishing leaves, inspiring each tree and sapling to reach for the sky. But what the melody fails to detail with its bright and enticing tune, is the fact that the deeper you venture into this natural catacomb the more likely you are to face loss - loss of direction, loss of time, loss of self.

"How far back are you able to remember?"

This Kokiri child with the depth of her curiosity surpasses all other Kokiri I have encountered. All others who have found me, hunched over on this fallen tree with sallow skin and hooded eyes, ask in the same knowing tone: "Are you lost, Mr. Stalfos? Are you lost?" That is what they like to call me, a stalfos. I had a name once. But as time passes on with no one to care for you, a name no longer holds any value. To the Kokiri, I am one of the many Hylians who find themselves engulfed in the forest's numinous charm only to inevitably sink into darkness. As I have been told, the eyes of a stalfos burn with the embers of their anger, sorrow or madness – the flame of humanity snuffed out. But the Hylian within me continues to cling to this world. It refuses to let me pass into unknowing and forget the memories of my former life. But it won't be long now. Those memories are merely shadows.

"Why do you want to know?" I mutter. "Aren't you here to laugh and call me by my new name?"

But she didn't laugh, giggle, or chirrup like so many Kokiri before her had done. Instead, she maintained her focus on my decaying face. Her gaze was so direct that I had to look away. I was too ashamed of my current state. I was too ashamed to converse with even a child.

"I know what they call you," she asserted. "And you will become one in time. But you haven't left yet."

I did not utter a reply. Leaning forward, she tilted her chin upwards to get a better look at me. As she did so, her green hair caressed her waiflike shoulders.

"Please…" she urged, a faint gloom in her tone. "Tell me what you remember."

Even if I wanted to recall those precious memories, so many of them had been scattered to the winds. There was no hope of gathering those recollections together again. I knew it. And I knew that she knew it. To speak of what I couldn't remember would only further solidify my fear and angiush. So why did she want to know?

"I'm afraid," I whisper.

"I know you are," she replied. "But won't you try?"

"I can't…"

"Please…"

I lifted my eyes, observing the smooth lines of her face. She was without a doubt unique to her kind. Tentatively, I began.

"I remember…I remember the daylight."

"The daylight?" she questioned without derision.

"Beyond these woods where the light is dull and green, there exists a light that is clear and pure. It isn't muted by trees. But I have been wayward in these woods for so long that I can't recall its warmth on my face. I can't remember how blue the sky is at the peak of day or the colors it is painted at morning and eventide."

I took a breath. I could feel the misery rising in my chest.

"And now, I am coffined by this muffled air, destined to live out the rest of my days with my failing memory until I become a monster."

She doesn't try to soothe me. She knows that she can offer me little relief in the way of my longing. But having her presence there, in the smallest of ways, is a comfort. Having another soul nearby that seems to understand is something I have not experienced in what feels like an eternity.

"I wish I could experience this kind of light," she began faintly. "But I can never leave the forest, for it is the source life for the Kokiri."

"And it will be the source of my demise," I respond, my woeful ire falling back into its slumbering state – lost in the woods. I imagine that my emotions too will be replaced by a passionless void in time.

"What else do you remember?"

She rests her hands in her lap, waiting for me. Does she ask me simply for her own amusement? No, she isn't like the others. Perhaps she asks in order to prolong the memories I have, knowing they will turn to dust. Or perhaps it goes much deeper. She is a reflection of the forest in which she dwells – deeper than one might originally expect. In either instance, it is a mercy as the sun sets on my existence.

"Her…I remember her."

She tilts her head to the side, her soft bangs caressing her forehead. She never breaks her view of my face. But I do not see her. I am looking beyond her for something long gone.

"Who is she?"

"I…I don't know."

"What does she look like?"

I struggle to recall her face, her voice, and her words. I wanted to conjure a memory of any kind.

"I don't know," I said again.

I didn't remember. I couldn't remember. I could feel the sting at the corners of my sunken eyes as I grappled for any memory; moments where we would whisper in the dark our greatest hopes, our fears, and our sorrows. I wanted to remember a smile that could chase away the rain on a stormy day or cheeks that would flush at the slightest provocation. I wanted to remember hands that were freckled by too much sun or that could knead the perfect loaf of bread. I wanted to remember her eyes. But there was nothing at all. There was only a blank space.

"I can't even remember her name…"

This realization pained me most of all. While I was slowly losing who I was to this natural fortress, I had lost "her." While her visage had been forgotten, her relationship to be diminished, my heart still knew her. It was this knowing that spilled from my eyes. I could feel my shoulders slump, my head hang and my voice tremble. There was no longer any point to containing my desolation. Soon I wouldn't even recall this moment or these tears. I imagine my emotions are foreign to the Kokiri. After all, sorrow for lost time is of little consequence to these sheltered, immortal beings.

"I wish I had never left," I wept. "I wish I had never left her behind…"

What was it that I abandoned "her" for that was worth this much sorrow - this much heartache?

I cried for a time, unable to control the deluge of my soul. The child allowed my tears to flow unceasingly. We sat there for a long time, unaware if the time drew close to twilight. Only the impending silence coupled with my heaving sobs met my ears. It wasn't until my cries were subdued to whimpers that she spoke again.

"I knew someone once who left the forest many years ago."

I did not raise my eyes to meet her, but listened to her trickling voice.

"He almost didn't say goodbye," she continued. "But I knew he had to leave. He couldn't stay here."

I kept my eyes toward the earth at my feet. The dirt was speckled with my lamentations.

"Why did he leave?" I asked her. If he was a Kokiri, they surely would not have survived beyond the immortal spell of the forest. She breathed a heavy sigh. She was holding back her own personal grief.

"He was destined for more than this forest – more than a life in these woods. He was meant for something great. But even if he was meant for something small, I knew he was meant for more than this."

We sat together, pondering what we could of the events and people of our past. We also contemplated the implications for our futures. Our outer serenity coaxed the animals in the trees and on the ground out of their hiding places to explore their world in peace. I had never noticed their chattering so acutely before.

"I wonder what she is doing at this moment – at every moment."

The Kokiri rubbed at her eyes. She had been crying herself. But she dispelling her tears with her petite hands.

"Do you think," I wondered out loud. "That maybe she thinks of me?"

She thought for a moment.

"I think she does," she said with a melancholy smile. "Someone who means that much to you couldn't have forgotten about you."

The corners of my lips turned upward. Perhaps she does.

"Do you believe he thinks about you just as much as you do?"

Pausing again before speaking, you could see the uncertainty in her eyes.

"I don't know. I hope he does. But the world outside these woods is so big. I am just one Kokiri."

Now it was my turn to give her my direct gaze and focus. It was my turn to offer what little I could to this child; what little humanity I had left.

"Someone who means that much to you couldn't have forgotten about you."

The edges of her eyes crinkled as her smile widened. She nodded in agreement. I could tell that our conversation was drawing to a close.

"Will you…" I faltered. "Will you stay with me a little longer?"

"Yes."

Our conversation drifted into a comfortable stillness as we observed the tinted light change from green to blue. Night was the loneliest time, especially when you are lost and alone waiting for your fate to encompass you. She must have known it as well. However, I knew I could not keep her away from her place of rest all night, though I selfishly wanted her to stay. As she raised herself to her feet to depart, I entreated her one last time.

"Will you remember me when I am gone? Even when I can no longer remember?"

"I promise," she assured me. "Will you promise me something?"

I sigh.

"You know I can't make any promises."

"Remember for me," she continued unfazed. "Remember as long as you can: whether great or small, you came to this forest for a reason –not to be lost and not to be forgotten. You were meant for more than this."


End file.
